My Lord is Gone
by Simply Paranoia
Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange is locked in Azkaban with her spirit gone and her memories to keep her alive. For Gamma Orionis


**This story is for Gamma Orionis! I really hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

_My Lord Is Gone_

The Dementors circled around, stealing everyone's bright spirit, but mine was already gone, before I arrived here. The chain that is attached to my ankle forces me to stay inside the cell. I cackle at those foolish Dementors, they can never be the ones to crush me. They pass by my cell, showering their coldness on me, but My Lord is much colder, yet My Lord has gone. My Lord is supposedly dead.

Azkaban is a dreary existence; I can no longer use my wand. I can no longer possess the power of torture, the power of evil. My Lord taught me every dark spell after I became a Death Eater, the movements especially. I remembered how he had held my hand as I gripped my wand; his grip was surprisingly soft, as he guided it in its motion. His hands had been cold, pale, and sickly, yet I loved how his long fingers gently extended over mine. Right after he gripped my wrist so tightly, I felt it would pop off, yet I know he was resisting his temptation. I always fall apart at this memory.

The day of my initiation to become a Death Eater, I had arrived at my sister and her husband's home. My Lord stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by other Death Eaters clothed in their masks and black cloaks. Soon I would be wearing that attire, which I longed for to no end. My Lord had beckoned me over to him with a smirk. Once I had approached him, he had fiercely seized my arm and brought me by the fireplace. He threw my arm inside it. I had screamed in my pain. He had slashed his wand out and used his evil and powerful magic on me to officially form the mark. I had stared at him as I had screamed. His aura was so powerful and elegant.

* * *

The stone of my cell is hard and cold, there is no comfort, no relaxation where I can rest my head safe and sound. Sadly, I share it with my so-called husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. He stares at me with obvious lust, lust which I will never allow him to complete. I am not his, nor will I ever be, even if we are bonded in marriage. He was only successful with me once in my personal experiment. He was ever so delighted, it was sickening. I stay as far apart as I can from him. He wants to hold me, run his hand through my hair. I do not even wish to see him. I need My Fallen Lord.

I constantly remember the soft pillows and blankets of my sister and her husband's home. My Lord would constantly stay at their manor, or mine, by his own force. I had felt him call me one night, through my dark mark. It burned and I loved it. He had needed me, just like I had needed him.

I had appeared right in my sister's guest bedroom, decorated in my house colors, silver and green, with my favorite color, black. He had stood alone in the middle of the room, his beautiful red eyes boring into me. My knees shook as he had approached me. He had grabbed me and pushed me onto the bed, he was furious. I screamed his name in my ecstasy that night while my sister and her husband plugged their ears.

That was the night that I had lost my virginity. I had waited for that moment for so long. I had only wanted him, no one else, especially not my husband. He was full of power, of evil, everything I desire. Yet, he never kissed me with those thin sickly lips, which I still desire, most of all. My experiment with Rodolphus was a failure, My Lord was much better.

Several times after that My Lord summoned me, only to take me. He took me at my own Manor, and Rodolphus thought he was punishing me, for he comforted me after. I laughed at his foolishness, right in front of his face. I had felt like cursing him with all my power and he had crashed into the fireplace, breaking the expensive stone. It surprised me that I pitied his pathetic and dreary existence.

* * *

Cries sound through the prison and I laugh at their shame. The cries remind me of babies, those goddamn, little monsters. The only baby I like is my sister, Narcissa and her husband, Lucius' son, Draco. I never want a baby. A baby destroyed My Lord!

My Lord had disappeared a while ago, and I had felt destroyed and vanquished. He was defeated by a mere baby! Anger had boiled through my system. My spirit had seemed to have left my body in a flash. I had screamed, and I needed revenge. Other Death Eaters ran and hid their identity; others lied, and said they were tricked by the My Lord. I stayed loyal unlike those dirty, cowardly bastards.

I had sought out Aurors, namely Alice and Frank Longbottom. I needed my vengeance for My Lord. I had figured they must have known where he went. My husband, his brother Rabastan, and Barty Crouch Jr. came with me. I felt great to torture those bastards into insanity. I was in power. As I torturted them I had felt My Lord's ghost hand guiding my own, like he had done before.

We were soon captured by other filthy Aurors. We had a hearing with Barty Crouch Sr. He was a despicable man who only lived for power, but in the worst of places, The Ministry of Magic, he is a disgusting and a "good" man. It was amusing when he saw that his _little innocent sandy haired son_ was a prisoner, with me of all people.

I took pride in screaming out my loyalty in my retribution, ""_The Dark Lord will __rise again__, __Crouch__! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!_""

Almost immediately, he sent me to this hole, Azkaban, where it came to me, that my heart was split in half. It still pains me to no release. Yet, I had felt My Lord's ghost hands travel down my curves in that familiar pattern, making me drop to my knees in the memory.

* * *

Everyday since I was sent here, I scream at those putrid Dementors. I constantly tell them that My Lord will come again. I knew it inside my split heart. I could tell that they were staring at me under those dreaded hoods. They wanted to kiss me, but not like the way I wish for My Lord to.

I do not sleep here, I barely eat, I barely drink. I twitch and scream along with my other fellow prisoners. Rodolphus never speaks, nor do I want him to. He just stares at me; I sometimes care to stare back at his ugly, putrid face.

I come out of my cold memories as he suddenly, and unexpectedly, spoke in his raspy voice,"Bellatrix."

"What!" I snap at him.

"Please," he begs of me. I creased my eyes at him angrily. I knew what he wanted, "Come on Bella, no one will care."

"Shut up," I demand.

"Please," he tries again. I scrunched my eyes, trying to imagine that he was My Lord. Instead, he just looked uglier. My Lord has his own exquisite beauty, and Rodolphus has hair, and his lips were way too plump. His eyes do not even resemble My Lord's beautiful red.

"If I had my wand…," I threaten him nastily.

"You are my wife," Rodolphus says with a smirk on his twisted face.

"So!" I scream at him with my hands beginning to shake in their fury.

"I should not have taken this crap any longer. I won't let you run my life, I will run yours," he snarls and I laugh until my chest hurts. Rodolphus did not speak again after that, he knew he lost. Yet, he reminds me that I never kissed My Lord. No matter how many little encounters we had, they never showed our true passion, at least my own. It was only full of his anger. His lips were the ones that I desired only.

Those thin, sickly lips.

My Lord is my one and only.

Yet, My Lord is gone.


End file.
